Ages of a Dynasty
by Catwho
Summary: 55 years after the events of present day Vana'diel, Curilla the One-Eyed Queen tells some artists what really happened to her and Trion all those years ago. Curilla/Trion romance. Cutscenes, Vanadiel Tribune stories, and quests all come together for this.
1. Prologue

Ages of a Dynasty

The concept of this "quest" is a frame narrative where an adventurer in distant future Vana'diel has been asked to help Angelica and Tompa-Tumpa paint a portrait of the dowager queen Curilla. I imagine the quest spawns with Angelica, and then requires the adventurer to travel to San d'Oria and check a ??? in the courtyard of the castle over a series of days, telling old queen Curilla's secret life story piece by piece. Much of the back-story has been taken from the San d'Orian storyline, as well as Curilla's quest series including Savage Blade, but a lot was also borrowed from the Vana'diel Tribune story for Curilla and Trion.

***

Prologue

For the eightieth birthday of the dowager queen Curilla the One-Eyed, her son Robillard, the 29th King of San d'Oria, commissioned a portrait for her from the most fashionable artist in the middle lands. Tompa-Tumpa was the latest protégé of Angelica, the eccentric Hume artist who had made her early reputation painting strange art and trying to get adventurers to take it to dangerous places to hang it. She had later developed into one of the most successful portrait artists of the age. Her students were numerous, but all agreed that Tompa-Tumpa, who needed a tall stool to even reach the canvas, had the most potential.

The student was busily arranging his oils and brushes while Angelica set up the area in the courtyard that Curilla had selected. They were assisted by one of the many adventurers that Angelica roped into helping her over the years by asking them to pose. It was said that she'd never paid one of her assistants in actual gil in her life.

"Over here by the fountain, I think," Angelica instructed one of the castle guards that had been borrowed for the task. "Or, like, over by the flowers. I think the evening light will be better there." Although approaching eighty herself, there was still a youthful mannerism in the great artist's bearing and voice. She had aged well, despite her temperament.

Curilla herself was escorted in by a grandson, who helped the ancient warrior into the chair although she swore she was still fit as a fiddle. Long ago she had exchanged her armor for more stately robes befitting a queen, but she was still in charge of training the knights of the kingdom in the ways of the sword, even if she herself had retired from the battlefield three decades before.

Her brilliant red hair had faded to a sandy gray, but she still wore it over her missing left eye, a style she had affected when she was twenty. Her one good eye was piercing and sharp when she was stern, and twinkling and friendly when she was kind.

"Now, my young Tarutaru friend," she said, and her eye twinkled to maximum effect. "I expect you to make me look like a princess again instead of a dowager." She chuckled gently.

"Now now, Your Majesty, we can't have any lies in art." Angelica fussed over the arrangement of the great queen's skirts. "He will paint you beautiful as you are."

Tompa-Tumpa looked nervously at his blank canvas. This could be his first real masterpiece. Either way it would hang in the halls of the castle forever, but he wondered at his ability to do justice to the aging royal in front of him. Perhaps if he knew more about her, he could do a better job.

"Milady," he began timidly. "I'm afraid thataru I am unfamiliar with Your Majesty's history, not being from San d'Oria."

Curilla nodded. "It is not a story entirely known in my own kingdom, for that matter. You may ask me anything you wish."

Taking a pencil, the Tarutaru began to sketch the pose that Angelica had selected for the monarch onto a parchment for a reference drawing. He asked the most obvious thing.

"How did you lose your eye?"

His master stepped on his foot. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to ask. The adventurer assisting her looked on with interest.

Curilla smiled, and her one good eye briefly went from twinkling to piercing. He felt as if she had bored a hole through him, but the sensation was gone almost as quickly as it came.

"Ah," the dowager queen said, brushing a fallen petal off her skirt. "That is a long story. But perhaps it is suitable for an activity such as this."

"Tilt your head this way, your majesty," Angelica said demonstrating it with her own head rather than touching the monarch inappropriately.

"Then begin at the beginning." Tompa-Tumpa erased the pencil lines he had started for her face, and tried again with the new angle. "Tell me about your childhood."

"Very well." Curilla smiled and closed her eyes briefly, composing her thoughts. "It begins in a training and tournament courtyard not far from here . . . "


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Prince Trion, eldest son and heir presumptive of the throne of San D'Oria, ducked as a knight three times his size swung a broadsword toward him. At fourteen, he was still small for his age, especially for an Elvaan, and still had the sprightly grace of his race's children.

"He's a scrappy one, he is," said Excenmille, one of the young squires of the Royal Knights. "Reminds me of myself not too long ago."

"Hmmm," said Halver, the newly appointed majordomo of the castle. He was a cleric and a diplomat. He was not too sure he understood the subtle nuances of the training before him, but it was true that none of the knights could touch the young prince. The boy was too nimble. They couldn't touch him at all.

"However," Excenmille murmured, frowning, "he is not getting any actual sword training out of this. He should have a sparring partner closer to his size."

Just then, one of the heavy adult knights managed to clash swords with the young prince, who held him off with a parry before losing his balance and toppling over. Several other adults ran over to the fallen boy, including a fussy nursemaid who promptly shooed all the other knights away. The boy had apparently sprained his ankle.

"I believe you are right, my dear friend."

...

Trion was forbidden from dueling with the knights until his ankle had healed. Even then there were concerns that it was too dangerous for him to train with grown men three times his size, no matter how talented and "scrappy" he was. But Halver sent out a citywide search, and one Watersday evening he entered the quarters of the oldest prince with pomp and fanfare.

"Your Highness," Halver said, beaming in that way he had that bode naught but ill, "we are pleased to announce that we have found you a suitable dueling partner."

All of Trion's dashed spirits lifted briefly. "Really? From where?" He must be coming from another kingdom, Trion thought. Maybe a human from Bastok, or another Elvaan boy from another land. He grew excited at the thought of someone his age to finally be able to fight with.

"From our own nation. It is a little unorthodox, but your father approved of the decision to allow it, if only for your sake." Halver cleared his throat. "I was against it myself until I saw the demonstration in the training grounds this morning. Most astonishing . . . I have never seen such raw talent before in my life."

Trion was almost grinning in anticipation. The other boy was sure to be a genuine match for once! He rubbed his sore shoulder where one of his father's knights had bruised him unintentionally during a match even before the sprained ankle -- he couldn't help it if he was still short for his age, but his father's order that he could no longer fight with the soldiers would at least spare him some unneeded aches.

Maybe they could be friends too, some small voice inside Trion was saying. Maybe this mysterious boy needed a friend as much as a lonely prince who had never been close to any of his peers.

By the time they arrived at the training grounds for the Temple Knights, where most duels were held inside the city, Trion had imagined his new partner and the future they would have together in exacting detail. Someday his new best friend would lead the Royal Knights of San d'Oria in a glorious conquest across Vana'diel. They would reclaim all the territory that rightfully belonged to the Elvaan, from the monastery at Davoi to the old Citadel in Sauromugue Champaign. Together they would all but rule the world.

Trion strained to see the other boy amidst the crowd of knights and squires milling around. The only person remotely near his age was a girl in a worn dress and boots, standing off to the side, talking quietly with the captain of the Temple Knights. Trion dismissed her outright -- probably the daughter of one of the knights with a message from her mother.

"I don't see anyone, Halver," Trion complained, gripping his sword handle. "Where is my new training partner?"

"I think we're about to see another demonstration just for you, your highness," Halver said with a secretive grin.

The boy must be hiding someplace then, Trion thought, but then the girl from the side of the field walked on. A dozen knights surrounded her, their swords held at the ready. For the first time, Trion noticed that she was similarly armed.

A warm flush of embarrassment began to spread through Trion. A girl? The only suitable partner for him to fight was this . . . this girl?

At a signal from the captain, the fight began. Almost faster than it was possible to see, the girl's sword whirled around. Fighting not one but three men at once, all of who were several feet taller than her, she seemed like she should have been at a serious disadvantage. Trion was thus stunned when the first of the knights was disarmed with a vicious kick from her solid boot. Without missing a beat, she twirled to parry the attack from the other two at the same time, locking both their swords with their hilt. In an instant she had kicked the wrist of one while lifting her whole body off the ground, bearing her weight on the locked swords. Another was disarmed; again, she had kicked the sword out of his hand. Before gravity could even reclaim her, she had twisted the third knight's sword in her hilt, yanking it out of his hands.

It was a simple disarmament exercise, but she had finished it in less than thirty seconds. Moreover, she was half the size of each of her three opponents. Instead of being at a disadvantage, her height and light weight allowed her freedom and mobility that was denied to the much heavier adults.

Respectful applause filled the small grassy field. The girl curtsied, breathing heavily from her exertions.

"Your Highness," Halver said formally, "May I introduce you to Curilla, daughter of the red mage Rainemard and the blacksmith Carautia. At age sixteen she is now considered the most gifted swordsman ever born outside a noble family. She has agreed to be your sparring partner."

Trion's first instinct was to say no. His dreams of a triumphant brotherhood with the chosen partner faded; that sort of camaraderie could not be had with a girl.

She bowed low to the prince, and then flashed him a brilliant smile. Straggly red hair and piercing blue eyes were set with pale skin, for an Elvaan, and a knobby, skinny body. She was only a little taller than Trion, as girls their age tended to be, but she was slender and wiry, making them about the same overall size. An endearing little beauty mark was beginning to develop below her full mouth. She would be stunning in a few years, but for now, she was just a skinny girl.

Trion bowed back, feeling a little foolish. She was the daughter of a fallen war hero; his excellent memory also matched the name of her mother to the blacksmith's guild and a shop in the southern part of the city. He wondered where she had learned to fight so well.

"Your Highness," she said in a sweet, surprisingly low voice, "would you like to try a match against me?"

"Yes," Trion said simply.

For the purposes of a genuine training duel, they both put on protective helmets. It would not do to have one of the heirs of the kingdom lose an eye in a mock battle, after all.

"Begin," the captain said.

With a fluid whirl Curilla leapt at him. Trion was ready. Unlike her fighting moments before, Curilla's small size gave her no advantage over her opponent. Their swords clanged together fiercely. She tried the lock and twist trick she had used on the knights, but Trion was ready for it and simply loosed his grip to allow her to turn his sword instead of knocking it out completely.

Unfazed, she attempted to kick him with one dainty-booted foot. Her kick misjudged Trion's short stature and merely smacked one of his long ears, bending the thick cartilage but causing no damage.

Trion had a few tricks of his own, too. He was a little stronger than she was, hinting at the powerful size he would attain in a few short years. He pressed that to his advantage and knocked her sword around with wild swings she could not completely parry.

Anticipating triumph even over so formidable a foe, Trion brought his sword up fast and delivered a ringing blow to her helmet. He expected to stun her for the moment he needed to knock her to the ground. Instead, the force of the impact knocked him back and numbed his arms. She didn't even seem to notice the attack he had made, and lifted one boot to his chest and kicked with all her might.

Down went the prince, and a moment later her sword was at his neck, next to the long artery that ran below his ear.

"The forehead is not a vulnerable spot," she warned softly, and touched the tip of her sword to his skin. "Our skulls are at their thickest there, and the helmet adds extra protection. Never aim for the forehead of someone in armor." She withdrew the sword and sheathed it in the tiny scabbard at her waist. "If you're doing that, then I can beat you half-blind."

Trion found himself the loser of a duel with someone his own age for the first time in his life. He fought back the childish urge to cry. Beaten by a girl! How utterly humiliating!

But the other knights around them were not laughing; indeed, they were murmuring quietly, respectfully amongst themselves.

"She is a born fighter," Halver murmured, helping the prince to his feet after the girl had retreated to talk again with the captain. "Her talent is so remarkable that the captain is going to groom her as a squire to the Temple Knights. She will be allowed to train here daily, and she has agreed to be your duel partner during your normal fencing lessons."

"How old is she?" Trion asked. She really was very pretty. He could not tear his eyes away from her.

"Sixteen. One year older than you, Your Highness."

She felt him staring at her, and turned around to catch his eye. Those laughing blue eyes sparkled at him, and at that moment, Trion's heart began to beat faster in his chest.

Many years later, he would realize that he had fallen in love with her that very day.

* * *

"Where do you live?" he asked her after their next fight. They were sitting in the shade of the training grounds, drinking water as they recovered from their exertions. She was still wearing the same worn dress as before, although she had said her mother was proudly forging her a set of armor at this very moment.

"In the residential area," she said with a shrug. "Isn't that where most people live?"

"I live in the castle," he pointed out. "So not everyone does."

She looked at him evenly for a moment, and then shrugged again. The prince was spoiled, naive, arrogant, proud, and a few other choice words, but she felt herself liking him despite that. He was so . . . honest in his dealings, unlike the other children with whom she had grown up on the streets. In a few years, that honesty would translate into nice strong terms like determined and forthright. In the meantime, it simply made him entirely too vulnerable. No wonder they needed an army just to protect his family.

"Well, I said most people, not all people. Even most of the noble manor houses are back there." She sipped her water again. "Would you like to come over for a visit? We could go right after practice."

He looked at her, faintly astonished. "I'm not allowed to leave the castle grounds except under the escort of the Temple or Royal knights."

"Well, I'm _practically_ a Temple Knight squire, so I'll just have to do."

He looked doubtful for a moment. Curilla had a feeling that he didn't break rules often.

"My mom is baking melon pies today," she dangled, hedging on the secret sweet tooth that she had heard he supposedly had. "She's a good cook even without the crystals, almost always makes high quality . . ."

"I'll have to tell Halver," he said, wincing as he said it. "He panics if he loses track of us."

"Oh come now, it's no adventure if you go telling the adults what you're doing first," she said, sticking her hands on her hips. "Besides, you won't be gone for long enough for him to notice."

"Well . . . ok." The moment his mind was made up, his chin firmed and his eyes darkened with resolve.

Curilla realized that Trion hadn't had much of a childhood, and she decided to give him just a taste of her own. The kids of Watchdog Alley would do nicely . . .

* * *

They slipped out from the training grounds unnoticed, and scampered down the drawbridge from the castle as if they belonged there. Curilla waved brightly at the guards, while Trion ducked past, wearing the sparking prism power she had given him. If the guards had looked closely they could have seen him, but all they saw was Curilla skipping away.

Once they had reached the fountain in the parade grounds, the sparkling powder began to dissolve in the air. As they passed under the Victory Arch that separate two of the sections of the fortress city, Prince Trion became visible again.

"That was easy!" he said, surprised.

"There's a reason that adventurers go through oodles of that stuff." Curilla grinned. "Come along, the residential area isn't far. It's just the old barracks from the war." She tugged on his arm and dragged him along the city streets. They trotted along, and as they ran Curilla waved to people she knew - fruit sellers at stands, residents of the city, even a few adventures.

"Oy, Curilla!" The two skidded to a halt in front of the armory where her mother worked. A pretty young blonde woman poked her head out of the door, and while their hair was different in color, Trion saw enough of a family resemblance to detect that this must be her mother, the blacksmith.

"Hello, mother!" Curilla said cheerfully. The mother and daughter, struck by tragedy during the war, showed no signs of the loss from just a few years ago on the outside.

"One of the Royal Knights stopped by earlier and said where you had been taken," Carautia said, and gave a nod to the boy with her. "I never figured I'd have a squire so young. Your grandfather is proud of you, and so am I." Rosel strived to look dignified in the back of the store, but it was obvious he was suppressing a grin.

"Mother, this is a friend from the castle," Curilla said, carefully leaving out Trion's name. "We were going to run home and fetch some melon pies, then go play in Watchdog Alley. Is that okay?"

Carautia mused for a moment. "If you have finished your chores already, it should be fine. And you don't have to bother going home, I have some with me." Her mother handed her a small cloth wrapped package. "Be home before the sun sets. I'll keep dinner warm. And your friend from the castle is welcome to come to dinner too, if he wishes." She gave no indication that she realized her daughter's friend was in fact a smuggled prince.

Trion tried to hide behind Curilla. He was not used to a world in which his face was not instantly recognized.

"I did them this morning before I left. Come along, let's go play with the others." Curilla dragged him along again, before he had a chance to say another word. He waved helplessly to her mother, who laughed as the youngsters ran across Southern San d'Oria.

In Northern San d'Oria, however, Prince Trion's disappearance had not gone entirely unnoticed. Halver had spent a good bit of time searching for the eldest royal child, to no avail. He quietly ordered that the entire castle grounds be combed thoroughly.

Munching on melon pies, Curilla and Trion approached the western half of the residential area where one lone manor house stood amidst the more modest dwellings of San d'Oria's people. The city had lost so many during the war, and there were so few children that the pre-war housing crunch seemed like a distant memory. Even the old barracks had been recently converted into public housing for adventurers.

"Hey Curilla!" a young boy called across the narrow lane in front of Tamila's Sundries. "Who's the shrimp?"

"That's Clifforant," Curilla whispered conspiratorially to Trion. "He's been trying to convince me to date him for some time, but I'd rather kiss a toad."

Trion couldn't help but laugh. Clifforant was at the awkward gangly stage of a pubescent Elvaan who was growing to his full height without having filled out yet. He looked like he had too many knees and elbows.

"Are you laughing at me, shrimp?" Clifforant approached them, and from behind crates and boxes in the area, other members of his gang oozed out.

"Insolent child," Trion scoffed haughtily, even though the other boy was bigger, older, and taller than him by yalms. "I wouldn't waste the breath."

Curilla rolled her eyes. "Oh brother." She unsheathed her sword quietly and hid it next to her side. Very carefully, she began to lift one booted foot to a standing yoga position beneath her skirt. She was always prepared.

Clifforant's eyes bulged. "Who does this shrimp think he is? Oy Curilla, today was going to be the day I was going to make you mine. But it looks like I have to dispose of some trash first."

Trion stared hard at the other boy, bunching his fists, wishing he had a sword right then.

Curilla pressed her back to his, and quietly tucked a dagger into his palm.

"Know how to use this?"

Trion shook his head fearfully.

"It's like a sword only shorter. Try not to draw blood."

And so Trion, in what turned out to be an astonishingly short melee brawl, saw where Curilla had learned her remarkable swordsmanship skills. Her small sword flashed in the sunset, knocking the older boys unconscious with ringing blows to the head with the flat of the blade. No one was seriously injured. Trion felt he didn't contribute much to the fight and vowed he would learn to wield a dagger as well as a sword someday.

Flushed with exertion and pleased with herself, Curilla flashed Trion another brilliant grin. "Wasn't that fun?" she said.

He gaped for a moment. "A squire to the Temple Knights shouldn't find fighting to be fun, I should say," he said softly as he handed her back her dagger.

She looked contrite as she tucked it into her boot. "You're right. I need to stop thinking like a child at play." She looked so crestfallen that Trion wanted to say something or do something for her. He had to pause as the strange feelings welled up in him. One of the boys on the ground was coming to again, but a swift kick with Trion's boot returned him to unconsciousness.

"We should leave her before someone notices," Trion said, looking at the people in the distance.

"Too late," Curilla said, and gave a cheeky wave to Tamila, who had stepped outside to get a delivery from the mailman. The older woman raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Unfortunately for them, a guard had also noticed the commotion and was shocked at pile of groaning bodies on the ground. "You there, stand down!" he yelled.

"Time for dinner!" Curilla replied, and took off running as if she had just downed a hermes quencher. Trion had no choice but to follow. The heavier guard chased them as far as the auction house before giving up. Then something about the younger boy clicked in his head.

"Wasn't that . . . His Highness Prince Trion?" He stared after the retreating pair in shock. "I must report this to Halver immediately."

* * *

"Aha! I knew he had left the castle grounds!" Halver was pacing in front of the audience chamber in the foyer of the castle. "And you say he was with a red headed girl? It can be no other but the sprite we picked up today." Halver stopped walking long enough to sigh and shake his head in annoyance. "She has so much raw talent, but apparently she needs a lot of discipline as well. Ah, the prince should be safe with her at least. Send a party to fetch him; they will probably be at her mother's house in the residential section."

* * *

Trion was on his second bowl of the thick, hearty puls when the knock sounded at Curilla's door.

Curilla immediately caught his gaze across the kitchen table.

"Jig's up," they said simultaneously.

"Whoever could that be?" Carautia said, ignoring the children. "I wasn't expecting any guests . . ."

On the other side of the door was a party of six Temple Knights, hats in hand, paying their respects to Rainemard's widow.

"We are sorry to disturb you, ma'am," the leader said politely. "But we have a castle runaway that we believe is stashed away in your home."

Trion reluctantly got up from the table. Curilla followed him. Now that she had a best friend, she wasn't going to let him go so easily.

"Your highness," the leader said, and kneeled. The others followed suit. Carautia looked at her daughter and her dinner guest in horror for a moment, then kneeled as well.

"You may rise," Trion said, almost pleadingly. "All of you. For one whole evening I was a normal child. Please let me have it for a few more moments."

Carautia looked at Curilla, who looked at her mother with an unreadable expression. Then Curilla took Trion's hands in her own.

"We will see each other again, tomorrow," she said gently. "You should go back to the castle now. Halver is worried, I'm sure."

Trion had flushed a bright red at the hand-to-hand contact with the older girl. He quickly regained his composure, and with a gallant bow and flourish to Carautia, he walked toward the guards.

"Thank you for dinner. And do not punish Curilla; she does not deserve it."

On that note, the young prince was escorted out of the residence, back to the castle where he belonged.

Carautia stood again and brushed off her knee armor. "Next time you decide to pick up a stray prince," she warned her daughter, "do give me some notice."

Curilla laughed and hugged her mother.

* * *

"I believe that is enough of the tale for today," the dowager queen said, coughing. "My voice is going, and the evening light is fading. Our youthful days continued thus for a few years. But things changed when I was accepted to the Temple Knights


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Good afternoon, my artist friends," Curilla said politely. She had been reading a book in the garden while she waited for the group to arrive.

They all bowed and curtsied neatly to the dowager.

"Help me set up this light box," Angelic told the adventurer. The two fiddled with the equipment while Tompa-Tumpa arranged his pencils and brushes and set up the stool for his canvas.

"It's a bit cloudier today," Tompa-Tumpa said, looking at the sky. "We should focus-wocus more on the shapes than the light."

"No, like, the muted colors will allow for more even color definition. In true light the colors are all shaded, but today we can see them as they really are."

Tompa-Tumpa squinted. The dowager's navy blue dress did seem a little more solid today.

"All rightaru. Now, Your Majesty, you promised us some more of your story-wory today."

"That's right, young man." Curilla took deep, steadying breath. "Our lives changed when I became a Temple Knight. They were already changing, but that is the night I broke my vows of purity as a spiritual knight, only hours after I had taken them."

Everyone looked at her in shock. They must have only been barely eighteen.

"Ah, like, young love," Angelica said after she recovered. "I remember those days too."

* * *

Curilla stood proudly before Trion, showing off her new uniform that gleamed in the firelight of the prince's private quarters. She had come to visit him after her first official morning training as a Temple Knight, just before lunchtime and the noon change of the guards.

"So you are now a full-fledged Temple Knight," Trion said, admiring the way the uniform fitted her. She had grown from a gawky sixteen-year-old in the last few years, hinting at the normal proportions for an Elvaan woman -- tall and stately.

Trion too had grown, "like a weed" as the saying went. He had shot up almost four feet in the last year alone, and his chest and shoulders had broadened considerably. He had yet even to reach his final size, however; Elvaan males were the tallest of the races and beaten only in overall size by the Galka. Curilla currently reached his chin but soon would fall to just below his shoulders.

Curilla smiled, her tiny beauty mark moving fluidly on her jaw line. "It's not like neither of us didn't know it was coming. I have been a squire for two years now."

Trion leaned back on his bed, where he had been lounging when she had knocked on his door. His hands were tucked casually behind his head, and the naked admiration on his face showed quite plainly that he was proud of her.

"And an excellent squire you were, too," he said. "No one has ever bested you at the sword."

Curilla shrugged, but it was the truth. "There is much more to defending our nation than swordplay, and I still have much to learn. I will only be a junior member, after all."

Trion looked at her, absorbing her beauty. Lately she had begun to stir other feelings in him, feelings that had confused him at first because she was his best friend. Generally one did not have those sorts of feelings about one's best friend, no matter how attractive she was.

His father had sensed something, and had sent poor Halver to give him "the talk", as the other noble boys his age had called it with a snicker. Halver had been more nervous, confused, and scared than Trion. In the end he had finally taken Trion to a discreet address in the nicer section of the residential area of the city for some hands-on explanation from experienced ladies of a certain persuasion. It had been an education for Trion indeed, and he had learned that most young noble Elvaan men discovered the place sooner or later.

But the relief he found there was temporary. The real burning he felt inside was for Curilla, and Curilla alone.

He wondered if she felt the same way. Could she possibly? Surely she saw him as nothing more than a training partner, a best friend. That was the way they acted together, of course . . . that was the way she treated him. He had to find out, somehow. He had to know if he was a silly teenager with a silly crush, or if she also burned inside for him.

He broke himself out of his reverie when Curilla noticed him staring overlong at her rear end.

"Remarkable how they can get the uniforms to fit so well," he commented lamely.

She quirked one eyebrow but made no comment about his apparent fascination with her derriere.

"The metal is mostly for decoration," she said, a little disdainfully. "I can bend it with my hands. It's obvious the Temple Knights ordered their armor from an inferior source." She was, of course, still a blacksmith's daughter, and she eyed the white metal critically. "The custom fit only took a few careful applications of a rubber mallet."

Trion found himself laughing at the idea of the Curilla he knew swinging a mallet, but he did not doubt her skill as a blacksmith in her own right. She had learned her amazing swordsmanship skills by some early training with her father, then later by growing up around the weapons in her mother's store and from the adventurers and knights who sought her mother's legendary blades. Her late father had wielded an equally legendary blade, and Curilla once said her mother found a connection to her father in the swords and armor she wrought.

"It's no laughing matter that the most respected knights in the land are wearing inferior armor," she said with a haughty shake of her deep red hair.

"Only you would notice, Curilla. Only you." He sobered himself up a little, and then asked, "Are you undergoing the ceremony of the watch?"

She nodded. "Tomorrow night. It won't be so bad . . . it's just the same tower out in Ronefaure that we've played in since we were children."

Both the Temple and the Royal Knights shared the same initiation tradition, probably dating back to the time when they were first part of the same greater army. New candidates were required to spend one night alone on watch in one of the towers of Ronefaure. In older days several knights would be stationed in more towers at any given time, but since the uneasy peace after the Crystal Wars, the modern towers had been abandoned to the adventurers who trained in the forest.

"No, it won't be too bad at all. I doubt the Orcs are going to make another attack on the outpost any time soon." Trion felt the inklings of a plan forming in his head. A plan to get her alone . . . for one glorious night, all to himself. But still, he had to find out whether he was the only one who felt this strange, magnetic draw.

Dithering about uncertainly was not his style. He would find out in the easiest way possible, he decided. If she rebuffed him now, he would not pursue her further. He only hoped that he wouldn't ruin their friendship if he were wrong.

Curilla noticed him thinking intently. "I know that gleam in your eye, Trion," she said. "Whatever idea you're hatching, I want no part in it. I have taken vows of purity, piety, and spirituality this morning. No more getting in trouble." She grinned slyly at him. She did know him well, better than anyone else in the world.

Trion chuckled. "But you're a very important part of the plan, Curilla." He stood up, so that his newly tall form towered over her.

Suddenly she seemed a little intimidated by him. No, perhaps intimidated was too strong . . . she was simply being cautious. She was intimidated by nothing, let alone him, she told herself.

"It obviously involves the ceremony of the watch," she said, probing him.

"Yes. And you. And me." He stepped closer, and slowly, ever so slowly, he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Trion . . ." she said warily, but whatever she had intended was quietly cut off by his kiss.

It was a gamble, this plan, Trion had realized, but he had never been one for waiting around for better odds. Curilla resisted at first, but then she too felt the longing pull at her, and she allowed him to deepen the kiss.

Oh yes. Any woman could fulfill the basic needs of a young man's body, but only Curilla could make his heart and soul ache as it did now. He inhaled her scent . . . clean but already tinged with the musk of sweat from her morning exercises. It was a far, far cry from the cloying perfumes of the brothel. The lessons he had learned there would only serve to help him please Curilla more . . . someday.

Finally, they broke the kiss, and stepped apart, breathlessly.

"So your plan is to finally take advantage of your _droit de seigneur_ over me, is it not?" Curilla sighed, trying to hide the roughness in her voice. "My mother always warned me to stay away from nobility because of that."

"You cannot deny that you feel it as well," Trion said, reddening. This was not going exactly the way he had planned. She was supposed to have collapsed in his arms or slapped him, not reacted with resigned indifference.

"Oh, I do feel it, your highness," she said. "Even now my heart is pounding within me, and I can still taste you and smell you in my mind." She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She was shaking. "But I am feeling a little cornered. I took a vow of purity just this morning! Part of me is afraid that you want to come to the tower tomorrow night, when I am helpless, so that I cannot call for help." She was getting angry now, Trion realized.

"No, of course not, Curilla. I would never knowingly force you into anything against your will, be it between us or us and the kingdom." He gently touched his hand to her cheek, and reached around to embrace her. The electricity arcing between them was as strong as a cluster of lightning crystals. He wanted her desperately, and was suddenly as afraid as she was of his behavior. "My thoughts were simply that tomorrow in the tower might be one of our only opportunities to ever be truly alone together. To talk, or more, but only whatever you wish." If she denied him, he would control himself. He would have no choice but to.

She understood then, and the comprehension blossomed across her face. "I trust you my lord, and I think I understand why you want to meet in the watchtower, even if only to . . . talk." The words sounded hollow, however, and he could tell that she was still a little frightened by the intensity of their shared passion. "Here in the castle . . ."

A large knock sounded on the door. They instantly leapt apart like children caught in the act of mischief, as they had done so many times over the last two years.

" . . . Anyone can knock on my door at any time." Trion rolled his eyes. "That is exactly why I wanted to be with you tomorrow. A bit of privacy is all that I need."

On cue the door to the prince's quarters opened a crack. "Your highness?" a runner outside said, watched closely by the guard. "His Majesty requests your presence in the court for the military council this afternoon. Oh, good morning, Lady Curilla."

It was the first time anyone had ever referred to her as "lady", and Curilla looked a little abashed. She straightened her new white armor with dignity.

"Good morning to you," she said, recovering, and executed a small, hopefully ladylike curtsy. "I was just about to return to my new quarters, actually, so I shall bid you both good day." She bowed formally to the prince, but winked at him as she did so. Even the stiff posture of her body then excited him. She had gotten into his blood with that kiss. He simply had to have her; there was nothing else for it.

But privacy! It was not to be found. Guards on rotation for eight hours each day. At the beck and call of his father. Trion hoped that Curilla understood what he had truly meant of course, and a few minute later, after he looked up the meaning of the Old Elvaan "_droit de seigneur,"_ he knew that she had.

* * *

Their chosen trysting spot was the far tower in the western part of the forest. Curilla lit the lanterns downstairs, climbed the ladder into the tower proper, and then pulled it up after her.

Inside were two small beds, a lot of old weaponry, and another lamp hanging from the ceiling. A small cupboard could be stocked with supplies during wartime, but for now it was empty.

Most of the children of San D'Oria had played out in the forests of the Ronefaure in their youth, mindful of the Orcs in the forest. If an Orc came around when they were not in a sufficiently large group to take it down (an alliance of fledgling warriors could easily take down an Orc, even if he did knock one or two of them out in the process), they would scramble up the ladders and wait until it went away.

Even as a child she'd had a talent for swordsmanship. Before he had been killed in the war, she remembered playing with a tiny practice sword with her father, poking rabbits and worms, and blossoming under his expert tutelage. When she was ten, her mother had estimated her to be on par with a level twenty warrior adult. Now that she was nearing adulthood herself, her skills were difficult to measure by the Jeunian level scale because her swordsmanship abilities were off the chart, but all her other abilities lagged behind. Much of her training that morning had not been with the sword, but with the protective and healing magic used by the Temple Knights to supplement their abilities. No mere warriors, they were all of the paladin class.

She stared out at the deepening twilight of Ronefaure, humming to herself the old tune of the same name. She remembered dancing in a circle around the campfire to a young bard playing the music, before her mother had collected her and scolded her for participating in the ancient ceremony -- Altana was the only one they worshipped, not the pixies or the forest spirits who had long since left that land.

A rattling on the ladder below served to warn her of someone in the tower bottom as she was lighting the inside lamp.

"Who goes there?" she called, although she was fairly certain she knew who it was.

"My fair lady, it is none other than your prince, come to woo you," Trion called in mocking tones. "Shall I serenade you?"

"Do that, your highness, and I will drop the trap door on your head." Curilla couldn't help but laugh. "Your singing voice is as atrocious as ever."

"It's not my fault I lack the talent for a bard!" Trion protested. "Pieuje and Claidie stole it all from me."

Curilla dropped the ladder down the rest of the way for Trion, and grinned with amusement as he scrambled up it, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the hole in the cement. Together they hoisted and locked the ladder back up so that no one could gain entry without their knowing. A trap door closed solidly over the hole.

"They built the new towers sturdily after the war, did they not?"

Trion shrugged. "We build our towers to last for eternity, unlike those Mithra and Tarutaru that build their homes of wood. Garlaige Citadel still stands in Sauromugue to this day, despite the worst of what the war could to do it."

Curilla frowned. "Do not speak of such things. Someday . . . San d'Oria may follow that same fate." She leaned one cheek against the cool wall. "Whether made of wood or stone, the creations of the children of Altana will always fall again to the earth. Nothing lasts forever."

"Maybe it does in Paradise?" Trion offered, setting one hand on her shoulder.

"I rather imagine that Paradise would be Vana'diel stripped of all civilization, not an eternal city." She touched his hand gently, and then turned around to face him. His hand slipped casually from her shoulder down to her waist, and Curilla found that it felt natural, comfortable, and right there.

She had always felt comfortable and right around Trion . . . it was one of the things that made him so perfect to her. No other being, Elvaan, man, or woman, had ever made her feel that . . . at home. She was not a tactile person -- she didn't like touching or being touched at all -- but it felt okay with him. Maybe because she knew, as he had stated before, that he could never knowingly hurt her.

"I think that Paradise is more of a state of being than a place," Trion said, leaning in close to her long, slender ear. "Our bodies will be light as feathers, we shall never know hunger or fear . . . and the Goddess will always shine Her light on us so that there will never be darkness."

"I think someone has been memorizing the papsque's sermons," Curilla countered with a grin.

"I think I am going to pretend that I just thought that up on my own." Trion protested.

"And I think you're lying."

"And _I_ think someone doesn't know when to let the prince of her sovereign nation have his pride." Trion nibbled delicately on her ear. "Yes, the papsque suggested that Paradise was something along those lines. But I have more earthly matters on my mind, so I can hardly be expected to contemplate the afterlife and speak words of poetry about it."

Whatever he was doing to her ears was making coherent thought impossible for Curilla as well. She had had no idea that they were so sensitive.

"Then no more words need we speak," she said in a low, shaky voice, as Trion began to kiss his way down her neck. A ball of longing knotted in her gut. She felt, perhaps for the first time in her life, a rush of genuine lust. He was nervous as well, she knew, but she also knew that there was no one else in the world she would rather be with at that moment.

They fell onto one of the narrow beds, witnessed only by the flickering torchlight.

* * *

Afterward, Curilla stood by the narrow window, wrapped in only a blanket. She sighed as she looked at the friendly trees, whispering softly in the midnight wind.

"A gil for your thoughts?" Trion offered from the bed.

"I was just thinking . . . how nice it would be if someday all buildings once made for purposes of war were used instead for purposes of love."

"A funny thought for a soldier."

"I'd like to think that the best soldiers are the ones who fight not for glory, or for bloodlust, but for peace. We fight today to ensure that our children will not have to fight tomorrow."

She heard him stir, and then felt him stand behind her.

"Vana'diel will always be stained in blood, I fear," he said mournfully. "It is the fate of mankind. The peace we have today is the best the world has achieved in only a thousand years, after all . . ."

Curilla leaned slightly out of the window, looking out at the forest below again. A full moon spilled down from the velvety black sky, with the familiar stars faded out beneath its brilliance.

Trion gently set one hand on her shoulder, looking over her head.

"We are still so young, Trion," she said softly. "Compared to the trees, to the ruins . . . we are nothing but falling stars against the impartial sky."

"All the more reason to burn brightly as we fall," Trion whispered.

* * *

The three artists stood mesmerized as Curilla stared at the first starts that were peaking through the dissipating clouds.

"Falling stars," she whispered. "And my beloved Trion burned brightest of them all."

The adventurer coughed, breaking the mood. Tompa-Tumpa continued to fill out the shapes of the queen on his canvas before the light faded entirely.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Good afternoon, your highness!" Angelica called across the lawn, followed by the adventurer. Tompa-Tumpa was missing.

"Where is our young Tarutaru friend?" Curilla called.

"He is running late. He said something about fire ore for pigment for the paint for your hair." Angelica shook her head. "I'm glad I'm not going to have to be the one to grind that down."

The adventurer grimaced. The arduous task of grinding paint pigments was her chore.

"Well, I don't want to begin my story without him, since he is the one that inquired." Curilla smoothed her skirt out. "Oh, there he is."

The Tarutaru artist, wearing the apron of the alchemy guild to which he belonged, triumphantly held a chunk of precious fire ore into the air as he ran toward them.

"Last one at the Jeuno auction house!" he shouted gladly, and then immediately collapsed on the ground. The exertion had been too much!

* * *

He came to shortly afterward, with a few soothing cure spells from Curilla. Sheepishly, he resumed his work on her portrait while the adventurer began the miserable chore of grinding the fire ore with a mortar and pestle for the paint.

"So yesterday, we learned how my relationship changed with His Highness. But try as we might to keep our love a secret, it was not without its challenges. We dropped hints without even realizing it, many times . . ."

* * *

Several months after their night in the tower, Curilla and Trion had rented one of the houses in the residential district to continue their clandestine more-than-friendship. Curilla supposed that by a technical definition she had become his mistress, but she hadn't felt that way in the two years they had been together.

The soldiers in the barracks didn't understand the reason for her firm rebuffs to their advances. To them she appeared imminently eligible; she was a prize that they all intended to win. For a while there was speculation that she preferred the company of women instead of men, but that fell apart as soon as they realized that she had no close women friends, not even the other women Temple Knights.

A small part inside of her ached to tell them the real reason for her polite rejections; that she was Trion's woman and would belong to no one else. But of course their tacit agreement to keep the affair to themselves precluded that.

It wasn't that it was strictly disallowed, but it could seriously crimp Curilla's career, and his father could at any time order them to cease their relationship. Rather than risk it, they simply kept the entire thing quiet. The act of pretending to be merely friends was growing more difficult by the day.

* * *

Trion was sitting in one of the plush velvet couches outside of his father's throne room, waiting for a formal meeting of the captains of the Royal and Temple Knights. Although as a member of the royal family he technically should not show any favoritism to either branch of the army, he could not help but prefer the company and the side of the Temple Knights. They were to whom Curilla belonged and with whom he trained daily.

Halver approached the prince from the atrium, frowning as he observed the young man's relaxed posture. Trion self-consciously sat up a little straighter. Halver looked serious about something . . . then again, Halver always looked serious.

"Your Highness, there is something I must discuss with you."

"I gathered that much, Halver." Trion tried to compose himself and not descend into outright cheekiness. He was old enough to behave better. "What do you require?"

Halver looked furtive for a moment, before he took a deep breath to steel himself. "Your father His Majesty is concerned for your reputation. You have been making frequent trips to the commoner's residential area, a fact that has not escaped the eyes of those along the parade grounds. His Majesty requests that you consider exercising more . . . tact in your liaisons."

To his credit, Trion kept his face composed during the obviously rehearsed speech, when he really wanted to burst out laughing. They must think he was visiting the brothels! Well, his visits were for the same purpose, more or less, in a strict physiological sense.

"Rest assured Halver, I have been trying to exercise as much tact as I can. You see, the lady is shy, and of noble . . ." He fought frantically for a suitable word. "Of a prominent family, and she does not wish to be witnessed either. Our affair is being conducted as discreetly as possible. Unfortunately, I can have no privacy in my own suite here in the castle, hence our conducting business outside of the palace."

Halver looked doubtful. "Do be sure to be careful, then." He looked askance at the prince and then said, "If she is of a prominent family, is it wise to . . .? Well, to put it bluntly, there are many young women, especially young noble women, who are looking for career opportunities as a princess, and will stoop to everything to get them."

"We are being careful, Halver. And she is not like that."

"Still, remember that discretion is the better part of valor outside of the battlefield as well." Halver turned to leave, and then paused. "I will ask His Majesty to lessen the security around your quarters, in case she chooses to visit us in the castle sometime. You are nearly an adult full-grown, after all."

Trion nodded regally. "Thank you."

* * *

"And that was how the guard was given the night off," Trion said, sniffing Curilla's hair. She was tangled up in the sheets beside him, her eyes closed, a blissful expression on her face.

"Very amusing. Very amusing indeed. And he now thinks you're carrying on an affair with a nobleman's daughter." She grinned.

"You are now a noble yourself, Lady Curilla." He twined a lock of her hair around his finger.

"It was a beautiful deception, regardless." She opened her blue eyes and looked at his paneled ceiling. His quarters were infinitely preferable to the sparsely furnished room they had in the residential area. For one thing, his bed was larger and more comfortable.

"Are we wicked for holding our affair in secret? I vowed to live with purity and without deception, but I break both vows daily."

"'Wicked?' Only the clergy believe in such nonsense. Most of the other races are fairly enlightened about . . . well, procreation and whatnot." He frowned. "I rather think Altana prefers us to be happy in the company of others."

"Not the physical aspect of our relationship. Even the views of the Temple Knights are more enlightened than that. But the affair . . . We're lying to everyone -- me to the other Temple Knights, you to Halver and thus to your father. Isn't providing false information to the sovereign of your nation one of those things punishable by death?"

"Probably under some archaic law, but only for matters of state, I would expect."

"Hmmm. I do not think I can give a direct lie to the king, either way." She caught his hand and freed her lock of hair from where he had started to braid it absentmindedly.

"You'd look fetching in braids," he complained.

"It doesn't feel like me any more . . ."

"Here, let me show you." He helped her sit up and began to expertly plait her hair into two small pigtails to the side. String liberated from his desk held it in place. "Now look in the mirror."

She looked across the room and giggled when she saw her reflection. "I look like I am ten again."

"At least from the shoulders up," he agreed, eying her exposed torso. Instinctively, she tried to cover herself up, even though there was nothing he hadn't seen before. In revenge, he reached below to her belly and began to tickle her. She shrieked and immediately released her hands, and then descended into a fit of giggles matched by his chuckles that eventually fell into another long wave of lovers' kisses.

"This happiness," she said dreamily after a while, breaking the kiss, "I have a feeling it cannot last."

"Why not?" Trion asked, his brow furrowing. "As long as we are together, won't we be like this?"

Curilla shook her head. "No, your highness." She put emphasis on his title. "You and I both have obligations to our nation that cannot be forgotten. A time may come when we must choose between each other and San d'Oria, and when that time comes we will both choose our country." She held his cheek close in her hand. "In the meantime, we must make sure to enjoy each of our moments as much as we can."

"Better to find the happiness in today than expect happiness tomorrow," he said quietly. "My mother always told us that."

"Your mother was a wise woman."

"Indeed."

"Let's find some more happiness now," she said, and reached for him.

* * *

Hours later, one of the castle guards saw a young redheaded woman in two pigtails hurrying quietly through the castle grounds to the servant's quarters. She had come running from the direction of the royal family's quarters, but she waved and smiled as though she recognized him when she saw him. Puzzled, he decided to not question her, since she seemed to act as though she belonged there, even in the wee hours of the morning. But he would check where she had come from and question the guards there, and have a word with Halver about her sometime.

* * *

Several weeks later, Curilla was lined up for training on the parade grounds with the other Temple Knights while their general inspected them before morning practice. She stared straight ahead, as did the other knights at a strict attention stance. She was one of less than a handful of women in the company. Most women didn't enter the military unless they had a superior talent that suited them for it. One young woman was exceptionally skilled as an archer, one with hand-to-hand combat, and another with the shield. Even then, they were all seriously involved in relationships and would probably leave the Order soon to raise families.

"At ease, men," the general said, and they dropped into the much more relaxed attention stance with a stifled sigh of relief.

"I have an important announcement to make," he said, his voice ringing across the courtyard in the early morning fog. "During recent Conquest negotiations with the other nations at the Jeuno Summit, it was decided to do a trade of soldiers for the purposes expanding peace during this time of Conquest. A small squad of soldiers from San d'Oria will be sent to Windurst, to join the Sybil Guards in a gesture of friendship. The Sybil Guards will send an equal number of soldiers to Bastok, and Bastok will send a squad here. However," and he suddenly looked hard at Curilla, "Due to the nature of the Sybil Guards, they have requested that only women be exchanged. We will be sending all five of you there as soon as the arrangements are finalized. This deployment will be for a period of three months, at which point the nations will rotate. We will send a different squadron to Bastok at that time."

To . . . Windurst? Curilla felt her heart plunge to her stomach. The federated tribes of the Tarutaru, a diminutive race that resembled children, and their friends the Mithra, were on another continent entirely.

The other women looked equally as dismayed. They had signed up to serve their country, not to travel far away to another one.

"Be prepared to leave within a week's time," the general said. "Think of it as a short vacation . . ."

* * *

"I won't allow it!" Trion railed, stomping around his room. "I'll find a way to stop it myself!"

"Dear, dear Trion," Curilla said with a sardonic smile. "There is nothing you can do without exposing our relationship. You've long since outgrown the need for me as a sparring partner. No . . . we will have to make do with whispered words of love for a time." She reached over and handled him a precious link pearl, which she had taken from a newly purchased shell. They both wore the general pearl of the Temple Knights, but this one was different. It had been tinted a lovely shade of dark red.

"This is a private channel for you and I," she explained. "The tell channel would have done as well, I suppose, but I wanted us to have something to tie us together while we are apart." She fitted the pearl into the special notch on her helmet that would hold it. "I have named it Love from Far Away."

"It's not fair," Trion said despondently. He vacillated between emotions and could hide none of them. "I want to go with you."

"No you don't," she said with a laugh. "Windurst is a very big and boring place, or so I've heard."

"But you will be there."

Curilla shook her head. She was taking this better than he was. "Use the time I am away to prepare for the tourneys. We will be eligible to fight together soon, and you certainly don't want to lose to me. As you are, I could beat you half blind."

"I don't want to lose you either." He gripped her tightly. "I'd gladly take second place in a thousand tourneys so long as you were there."

"Now now, you don't mean that. You're as competitive as I am."

"What will I do without you?" he said mournfully.

"You will live." And that was that.

* * *

Curilla learned a lot while she was in Windurst; she perfected her healing and enhancing magic skills with the magical Tarutaru, and grew several levels in her parrying and shield skills against the wily, crafty Mithra. She was rapidly approaching 75 paladin on the Jeunian scale, although her natural sword skill had long since flown off the charts.

But there was one technique she had yet to perfect. As she watched one of the Sybil Guards show off an advanced dagger technique called Evisceration, Curilla remembered watching her father Rainemard using his own secret sword techniques in demonstration on some hapless Orcs. She vowed that she too someday would learn the special sword skills that dealt such damage so elegantly.

"Trion?" Curilla whispered into her secret link pearl as she settled into her cot bed.

After a few moments Trion responded. "Yes my love?" his voice said, slightly tinny through the carbon vibrations of the pearl.

"I want to learn the Royal Knight's skill Savage Blade when I return."

". . . Are you sure? I didn't think a Temple Knight would ever be interested in such a thing."

"It's not all prayers and protection, you know. If we are going to enter the tournaments together, we should both learn it."

"As you wish." Trion didn't sound convinced. "You sound tired. You should rest, Lady Curilla."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Curilla mumbled into the pearl, already falling asleep.

* * *

Almost three months later to the dot, they returned to the kingdom on chocobo. Curilla was so glad to be home! She was going to find Trion and do some decidedly unpure things to him the moment she saw him.

But when she finally did see him, he was clad in full armor and fencing with another member of the Royal Knights on the training courtyard. She looked on in wonder as he decimated his opponent easily. He too had grown as a fighter while she was gone after having taken her advice and practiced.

He removed the practice helmet and released his shaggy head, tossing it with a careless grace that made her mouth go dry. He didn't notice her at first, but when he did, he dropped the helm on the ground in utter surprise.

"You're back!" he said, forgetting himself.

Curilla smiled. "We are all back, Your Highness. And I am overjoyed to have returned. While the Tarutaru and Mithra make delicious food, their portion sizes are far too tiny for an Elvaan warrior."

Trion threw back his head and barked in laughter.

* * *

The next day they squared off against each other for the first time in months.

"I won't go easy on you," he warned mockingly.

"Nor I to you!" Curilla cast the level four version of Protect upon herself. Trion followed suit.

"The title for master swordsman in two years - the elimination rounds begin in six months. One of us will be the victor for sure."

"I will be the victor, Your Highness!" Curilla said as she rushed at him.

For hours, their swords clashed, paladin versus paladin. More than once they had dealt enough damage to require strong healing spells, but they'd both grown in that respect as well. It was all in the timing.

"Sentinel!" Trion called, enhancing his defense right as Curilla unleashed an advanced weapon skill on him. He took almost no damage, and she was in an awkward position and nearly caught a blow on her side.

"Shield bash," she cackled as she smashed her shield into him, temporarily stunning him. She slashed at him again, but he parried the attack, and she managed to block his next attack with her own shield.

They were having fun, more fun than they had had in years.

Finally, out of mana and nearly exhausted, they collapsed on the training grounds next to each other.

"I missed you," Trion said, echoing her thoughts. He reached for her hand.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," she quoted, and stretched her armor-clad fingers against his. The metal made a tinny sound as it hit.

"Six months." He took a deep, restoring breath. "Then it will be a year of elimination rounds, followed by six months of actual matches. Promise me you will make that final fight against me, Curilla."

"Altana willing, we will fight for the title together, Your Highness."

They stayed like that for a long time, holding hands and staring at the stars above them.

* * *

"So for nearly two years, we trained both together and apart daily." Curilla sighed and looked wistfully at her sword hand. "Near the tournament, when it was apparent we would both be near the finals, we stopped having that daily contact. I think it was easier on us that way; we were competing against everyone else as well as each other. Going into the final fight, he was undefeated and I had only lost to him but once. He was favored, of course, because he was the prince, but the Kingdom approved of the daughter of Rainemard winning as well. It was described as an epic match unparalleled in the history of the San d'Orian tourneys."

"Yes, even if we hadn't heard about the rest, most of us at some point heard about that tournament."

"Well," Curilla said, chuckling softly, "it was truly epic not only because it included a prince of the Kingdom. That tournament was where I lost my eye." She touched her sandy hair, which hid the glass eye. "That story is for another day. Not tomorrow, because the weather linkshell has predicted rain. You may return on Darksday."

The artists gathered their things and left, wondering what tragedy had befallen the dowager queen at that tournament.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

On the fourth day of her portraiture, the artists began to fill out details of Curilla's features and clothing. The goal, as Angelica had said, was to capture the reality at its most beautiful. The adventurer assisting them was once again set to the thankless task of grinding pigments while the master and apprentice argued over the finer points of art execution.

"The rule of thirds is good for the eyes, but the bush at this angle is wrong. It's much lower than one third at the bottom. The landscaping feels off balance."

Tompa-Tumpa squinted at ground level, then stood on his stool and squinted some more. Finally, he concluded, "No, master-waster. The angle is correct from the level it is being painted at. She is sitting down. Come down to this height."

Annoyed, Angelica gently knelt down to the height of the Tarutaru on his stool, and studied the scene of the old queen before her. "Hmmm, you're right. At this height the bush is properly placed. Funny old thing, perspective." Satisfied, she stood up with the assistance of the adventurer. She was spry for her age, but still an old woman. "All right, you may continue."

"I shall continue as well," Curilla said, and picked up the story where she had left off. "So Trion and I prepared for the tourneys, separately. This was good for us. Although we didn't exactly hold back when we fought each other, there was a complacency to our sparring. We knew each other too well. It was best for us to fight others along the journey. Our contact was otherwise limited to official business and the occasional dalliance on the side. But soon enough, the time would come for us to fight again . . ."

* * *

After nearly a year and a half of rounds of elimination, the final fight of the tournament had commenced.

Their swords flashed like lightning in the sunset, arcing between them faster than anyone but they could see. The rumors circulated throughout the crowd -- the two duelists had been trained together; the blacksmith's daughter was undefeated against everyone else but Trion; they had not fought together like this in nearly two years.

Trion's sword finally managed to pierce through Curilla's ironclad defenses, and he scored a ringing blow against her helmet with the butt of his sword, crushing it into her face. Stunned, she stepped back for a moment and almost let herself become unguarded, but fortunately the impact of the mighty swing had knocked the prince back several feet, allowing her a precious moment to recover. The situation echoed their first fight, years ago, except for a crucial difference: Trion was now several heads taller than her and nearly twice her size. A terrible pain was on the left side of her face; she could no longer see on that side, and she felt the blood dripping down her cheek.

Trion must have seen it too, for he also faltered for a second. Not since they were children had one drawn blood from the other. She rushed at him, but he was too slow in bringing his sword up to parry, an amateurish mistake that cost him the battle.

"Never let your guard down!" she yelled. She prepared herself to unleash the secret technique she had been practicing, summoning all of her energy into one final attack. Her lust for victory was channeled into her weapon, and she struggled for control. Her sword arced gracefully as she leapt into the air, throwing all her weight behind the point of the sword. Killing Trion was not an option, so she aimed above his heart, closer to his shoulder. The attack should be capable of piercing through armor.

But she underestimated the strength of the sword that she herself had commissioned for the tournament. Her mother's skill at the forge proved to be her undoing. Her sword shattered his blade from the sheer energy in the impact. The tip of his sword broke off, blunting the energy in the attack, and flew straight back at her face. The armor, which should have been protecting her, had been crumpled by Trion's earlier attack, exposing her left eye almost completely.

She almost blacked out as the tip of Trion's own sword lodged itself neatly in her eye, but she was above all a warrior. She pinned him to the ground, and she first made sure that the pointed end of her sword found its mark at the open spot between his neck armor and the shoulder plate. There could be no doubt who was the victor that day, despite the failure of her new technique. She would just have to have her mother make him a better sword, that was all . . .

But the victory seemed pointless to Curilla, since she knew she was an equal to Trion now. She had probably known it all along. Today's tournament victory evened their score.

She also felt oddly lightheaded, and noticed the blood running steadily from her face, dripping onto his chest armor. Her left eye hurt terribly, and she had no doubt that some significant damage had been done.

"Are you all right?" Trion asked, his voice tinny through the facial armor. It reminded her of his voice in the linkshell while she had been in Windurst.

"The forehead is not a vulnerable spot," she said, remembering her prissy self from a mere six years ago. The weakness in her voice belied her words. She removed her ruined sword from the winning position and tossed it aside, wincing at the clattering noise it made. The movement of her eyebrows brought a fresh outpouring of blood from her face. She dared not remove the sword tip from her eye, lest she faint.

She carefully removed her booted foot from his chest. The world was swimming from her good right eye, and Trion leapt up to steady her as she swayed.

"You are most certainly NOT all right," he bit out. "Someone fetch a healer!"

Curilla, the new undisputed champion of San d'Oria, swooned gracefully against him, her world gone dark from pain and blood loss.

* * *

It was fortunate that the tourneys drew spectators from across the Middle Lands.

Monboroux had had someone cut away the helmet piece-by-piece, afraid that pulling the damaged armor from her head would cause more harm to the knight's already terrible wound. She was thankfully unconscious, due to a sleeping spell from the red mage who had been in the audience, but Monboroux feared the worst.

The sliver of metal had landed at such an angle as to cut through her eyelid and into the eye. The loss of pressure in the punctured organ had caused all the fluid inside to leak out; her eyeball had an almost deflated quality to it. The blood had mostly come from the almost severed lid. It would be useless to try to salvage the eye; some things simply could not be healed.

"Eyes are such delicate things," Monboroux said to the red mage, who had had to cast the Raise spell on the fallen knight to even bring her back at all. "I'm surprised more adventurers don't lose them like this."

"Will she ever see again?" the red mage asked, concerned. His healing was inadequate for an injury of that magnitude.

Monboroux closed his eyes. "No. The nerves may have been severed as well. I can stitch it closed, and it may even fill with fluid again, but the nerves in the back are probably damaged beyond repair, and the risk of infection is far too great. Not even a skilled white mage can heal a wound like this." He looked at the damaged beauty again, and frowned. "I can probably install a glass eye for her, at least. I'll have to request one from the alchemist's guild in Bastok, but I'm sure the king won't object to the cost."

For now, the physician worked on her, sewing the cuts in her eyelid shut with a silk thread. He carefully, delicately removed the ruined eye and cauterized the nerves running from the back. She would be in severe pain when she woke up, and it would probably hurt her for the rest of her life. But she was alive.

After he poured a mild antiseptic solution on the area, he bandaged it up and had the red mage cast healing spells on it until the bleeding stopped.

A knock sounded at the door. Without waiting for a response, Prince Trion barged in.

His usual stony countenance was even grimmer than usual when he saw the fallen knight on the bed.

"Is she all right?" he asked without preamble, not taking his eyes off her. The bandage on her eye was large and bulky.

"Her other injuries were relatively minor, and she will survive the one on her head. However," and here Monboroux took a deep breath, "I am afraid that the Master Swordsman will be blind on that side for the rest of her life. I cannot save the eye."

If it was possible, Trion's face turned even darker. He stepped hesitantly toward the knight's bed, where she had been laid in her quarters, and then kneeled down beside her in an unexpected gesture of respect.

"Her beautiful, beautiful face . . ." Trion whispered.

"I will be putting in a glass eye as soon as I can order one from Bastok. In the meantime, she must not take off the bandages." Monboroux told the prince, who was shaking his head in denial.

"Leave us," he barked at the doctor. Monboroux was done, but he was surprised at the prince's actions. Removing the physician was usually the last thing on a friend's mind while visiting a sickbed.

"As you wish, Your Highness," Monboroux said, and quietly ushered the red mage out.

But once they were through the door to Curilla's room in the barracks, he paused as he shut it. She was peacefully asleep; the Prince could not apologize to her as she was. Surely he knew that. Why was he demanding solitude with a victim who could not hear his sorrows?

And then Monboroux heard from within the keening of grief. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the sound, although he had not meant to eavesdrop.

Prince Trion was weeping for the woman he had felled, with all his mighty soul.

* * *

Curilla's first sensation was pain, which was followed by agony, and then a terrible headache. Her mouth was dry and she felt weak all over. She tried to open her eyes, but her left eye seemed firmly shut. Gingerly, she reached up with one hand and felt the bandages across her face.

"Good morning, Master Swordsman," a low male voice said. Curilla half-smiled.

"Good morning to you, your highness." She sighed. "I assume from the size of my headache and the large bandages on my face that I was seriously injured."

"Yes," the prince said sadly, touching her bare cheek with one finger. The sensation was comforting, and she leaned into his familiar hand.

"The forehead is not a vulnerable spot," she complained.

"But the eye is. I am sorry, Curilla."

"It's not your fault. I blame cheap swords and mediocre armor. One of my first acts as leader of the Temple Knights someday will be to request a new master blacksmith for us . . ."

He chuckled softly. She still could not see his face, but she could feel his warmth on her bed. She wondered if they were alone, and if so, how long had he been there? Not that it mattered, considering that they together had already shared the greatest of intimacies, but there was propriety to worry about.

"Who treated me?" she asked.

"Monboroux of Jeuno was in town for the tourneys. You were treated by the best. He says that once the tears heal and the bruising fades, you shall return to your normal, beautiful self. But until then, you are not to remove the bandages."

She brought her hand up to touch his and clasped it, still wishing she could bear to open her eyes.

"Will I see again?"

"No. He will have to put in a glass eye, Curilla."

"I always swore I could beat you half-blind, Trion," she said with a grin, choking back a sob. "I think I just proved it, didn't I?"

"I owe you restitution," Trion whispered. "Name it and it is yours."

"You owe me nothing." She felt a little cross then. "Injuries are part of the path that you and I have both chosen to walk. It is a risk of entering tournaments. It was my fault for attempting an untried weapon skill."

"But not of this nature, and not inflicted by friends."

"There is nothing you can give me that will replace an eye, your highness. There is nothing I can ask, and nothing you can give. So do not feel guilty."

He paused for a moment, and squeezed her hand. "Then I shall make you my queen. Will that be sufficient?"

She hissed an indrawn breath. "Surely you jest."

"It is the only thing I can offer you that is of a near value."

Curilla summoned all her strength and forced open her good right eye. She winced at the bright light, but her vision cleared quickly and she saw the prince, his expression incredibly sorrowful.

"No, Trion," she said after a moment. "I will not offer the rest of my body as your penance." She was insulted. Did he think so highly of himself? Did he think she was nothing but an ambitious social climber, willing to become a bride for him to soothe his bruised ego?

He flinched at her statement. "I did not mean it like that. I meant . . . you have the Temple Knights for now, but what if you are further injured again? What will you be able to do? You cannot continue to pursue a career as a swordsman if you cannot see or move perfectly. You are poor, you will not be able to support yourself."

She wanted to kick him. She wanted to punch him. She wanted to poke one of HIS eyes out.

"Your Highness," she said through gritted teeth, "never forget that it only takes one good eye to forge a sword. As long as I breathe I will not be helpless or poor." She was angry, angrier than she had ever been in her life. "I will not be your queen, I will not be your princess, I will NOT be your bride! Not over something as stupid as an eye."

Inside, the girlish part of her that had always dreamed of Trion claiming her as his princess died. That girl inside had wanted him to love her and find her the only one worthy of him out of all the women in San d'Oria. It was a dream, one that could never come true. He didn't love her. He probably didn't know how to love anyone. Instead, he wanted to marry her only to ease his own guilt.

"Curilla, I did not mean --"

"Get out." She hated herself for crying, from wounds both inside and out. "Send Monboroux back in here. I need some eye drops and a good Cure Three spell."

"Curilla, just listen --"

"I SAID GET OUT!" she shouted.

If that didn't bring half the castle running to her bedroom, then she really was weakened from the fight. Trion chose wisely to retreat from the crying woman at that point.

He fled the room without another word.

Curilla allowed herself a pity moment now that she was alone, and cried for a few moments more. Then she struggled to regain her composure. She was the newly proclaimed Master Swordsman of the kingdom, after all, and a member of the Temple Knights. It mattered not if she had just had her best friend deal her two grievous wounds within the space of a day, one to her body and one to her soul.

* * *

It was many months before she allowed him to come near her again. She always found plenty of things to do, to exercise her body and mind and occupy her day that kept her away from his quarters. She was very glad that she had not joined the Royal Knights so she did not have to share the same wing of the castle with him.

Her eyelid had healed to almost normal, although it hurt a lot occasionally. Monboroux said it was because it could no longer lubricate itself properly and would tend to dry out around the milky glass ball. He suggested the salty water from Horlais Peak as a tonic, and Curilla began asking random adventurers to acquire her some whenever they fought the Orcs or other monsters near the Burning Circle. It did ease the aching. Monboroux was indeed the best physician in the world.

It had affected her swordsmanship at first, but she soon learned to compensate for the limitations of one-dimensional sight. She learned to study her opponents carefully, so that she would know their fighting style almost before they raised their swords. She took to brushing her hair down over the glass eye to avoid drawing attention to it, as it did not move properly in its socket and was like as not to wander off on its own, staring off to the side or rolling up completely, which could be distracting to others.

It was one day during afternoon exercises in the training grounds that Trion finally cornered her. She looked around for escape, some means to run away, but all the other knights were looking on. She could not ignore him without committing a terrible breech of etiquette, and he knew it.

He better damn well be here to apologize, she thought, angry that he had dared to enter their sanctuary without asking. He must have heard of the nomination results for general.

"Your Highness," she said coldly, kneeling before him gracefully. He did not acknowledge her for several heartbeats, and Curilla felt the heat rise to her cheeks. How dare he? How dare he further insult her?

Then casually, almost conversationally, he said," Rise, Temple Knight."

She stood up, furious with him. She pierced him with her one good eye, but to his credit he did not react.

"My lord, what brings you to our barracks today?" she asked, praying to Altana that he was not going to demand he marry her again. She could not stand any more humiliation at his hands.

"I was hoping for a rematch, Curilla," he said. "There truly is no better swordsman than you in all the kingdom, and I have not had a good challenging duel since our last battle."

She narrowed her eye at him. "Do you still not believe I can defeat you half-blind, Your Highness?"

"This time I swear I shall remember that the forehead is not a vulnerable spot." He took a small step closer, and said in a lower voice, "I am sorry for being an insufferable, arrogant pig, Curilla. I have missed you and I can stand our quarrel no longer."

His apology, however late, eased some deep ache that Curilla hadn't even realized was bothering her.

She nodded, accepting the apology. He did not seem like he was going to press the issue over her refusal today.

She unsheathed her sword, and held it towards him. "I accept your challenge."

Trion looked relieved. Their fight had been hard on him too, she realized. Maybe he had missed her almost as much as she had missed him.

Life would go on as normal again. She smiled as Trion unsheathed his sword and held it at the ready as well.

* * *

Later on that evening, after a shower and nice relaxing nap, Curilla changed into something other than armor. Trion had asked her to attend dinner at the royal table that evening, privately as a celebration of their make-up, but publicly as a toast to her recent nomination for general of the Temple Knights.

She was still stunned that her peers -- many of them grizzled war veterans or hardened adventurers -- believed that she was the best to lead them, although it probably had a lot to do with besting them all for the title of Master Swordsman. The appointment would not take place until the current general retired the next year, and it was sanctioned by the king, but the nomination alone spoke volumes of the trust and faith her comrades placed in her.

Trion met her in Queen Leute's garden, where she was visiting the old queen. During the long months of their argument, she had taken to seeking solace at the grave of his mother. She barely remembered the queen . . . had most definitely not been introduced to her, as she was still naught but the late Rainemard's daughter when Leute had passed away. But she felt a connection to the woman through the son that had been her best friend and confidante for the better part of six years.

"I believe that Mother would have approved of you," Trion said, stepping behind her and placing one hand on her shoulder. "She always did value independent women . . . perhaps because they would not give up the kind of freedom she herself never had."

Curilla reached up to touch the hand on her shoulder. "She was married young, was she not?"

"A few years younger than you are now. She was not even thirty when she passed. My father was nearly two decades older than her at the time of their arranged marriage, but they still loved each other deeply."

She heard herself ask, "So does that mean the king believes in arranged marriages?"

Trion leaned close to her, inhaling the scent at her neck, in her hair, behind her long graceful ear. "No. Father told us all that while he was exceptionally lucky with his bride, we were free to choose for ourselves, so long as we chose wisely."

"His Majesty is very wise himself." Curilla felt her breath quicken as Trion began to gently nibble at her neck.

"Age has not taken him yet, fortunately." Trion moved to capture her lips, but Curilla gently stopped him with one palm on his firm chest.

"No, Trion. Not here, not in front of the queen."

"I said Mother would approve of you." His eyes were dark with passion. Her body was singing in response to him, but she knew she had to stop them now before he scooped her off to their old house. He obviously wanted to resume their intimate relationship as well as their sparring one, but she was afraid of having her true feelings for him trampled again. They still had passion in abundance, but would it endure? Would he feel guilty again and make that ridiculous proposal to her that she marry him as restitution for a lost eye?

"We'll be late for dinner," she said shakily.

"Then afterward . . . let's go to the house." He kissed her forehead briefly. "We shall celebrate your nomination in private -- away from the eyes of Mother, as you wish."

"Yes," she whispered, despite her misgivings.

* * *

Tension crackled in the air throughout dinner. If the other guests at the royal table noticed it, no one mentioned it. More than once Curilla found herself staring at Trion, and caught him staring at her in turn.

She also caught the eye of his younger sister, who had winked conspiratorially at her. That make Curilla blink, as Claidie had never before even seemed to have noticed her. She wondered if the apparently scatter-brained youngest child of the royal family had more depth than she had previously credited her with, if she was picking up on the subtle undercurrents flowing around the dinner table. She was one that Curilla would keep a closer eye on from now on. She was growing into a lovely young woman, and soon would have the noble men of San d'Oria beating down the castle doors for her hand.

It was not Curilla's first dinner with the royal family -- she had been part of several large gatherings as a Temple Knight, and had been a guest at every one of Trion's birthday parties, smirking because they marked the start of a brief month that they were the same numerical age. The fact that she was eleven months his senior had never seemed to bother either of them, since his status as a royal made up for any possible seniority she might have in age.

But this was the first private dinner she had attended, and it bothered her ever so slightly to be privy to the private bickering of the three royal children.

Trion the Knight, Pieuje the Priest, and Claidie the Fairy Princess, as Curilla had once whimsically labeled them. To her credit, Claidie tried hard to keep the peace between her brothers, but more often than not she ended up having to choose one side or the other, which obviously distressed her.

"I still say that the Humes should formally cede all claims to Selbina," Pieuje said. "The city itself should not be subject to Conquest. No one ever denies that Mhaura belongs to Windurst, regardless of what nation controls the peninsula."

"There are too many Humes in Selbina for that to work," Trion argued. "As it is equidistant to both the capitals, and frequented by adventurers, it is impossible for us to lay a complete claim to it. Besides, wasn't it a Hume fishing village initially?"

"So was Jeuno, and now look at it," Pieuje retorted. "It is important to impose our sovereignty over all the cities within our territory, and as a strategic seaport there is none better on the continent."

"You would have us devote all our Conquest efforts to one region, ignoring the others," Trion disagreed. "Even if we did manage to hold Zulkheim indefinitely, there is no guarantee that Selbina would cease its relationship with Bastok. It is far better to spread our efforts far and wide, so that Jeuno declares us first in the conquest for the quarter."

Curilla felt a toe touch hers, daring her to voice an opinion, but she held her tongue on the discussion. It was the jurisdiction of the Royal Knights to devise strategies for the Conquest, not the Temple Knights. It was, frankly, none of her business.

It was Pieuje who changed the subject. "Lady Curilla, since you will most likely be resuming the post of General next year, I would like you to start issuing me daily reports at the Cathedral. You will be in charge of the spiritual growth of the Temple Knights, as well as their training."

"Understood, Your Highness." Curilla breathed deeply. "I still have much spiritual growth for myself." She did not add that she'd broken some of her vows the day she'd made them, but no one really held the Temple Knight's vows of purity to include chastity as well. Deception to the royal family, on the other hand, always weighed heavily on her heart.

"We would all do well to prepare ourselves for the Blessings of Altana." King Destin rarely spoke from the table, preferring to listen to his three beloved children even when they were fighting with each other. He learned more from their daily foibles at the dinner table than he did from his advisors.

"That said, when the time comes, I will be pleased to sanction your promotion, Lady Curilla. San d'Oria needs more honest, hard-working knights such as yourself." He raised his wineglass. "A toast, to the future general of the Temple Knights."

The three royal children raised their glasses, Trion trying hard not to grin like a puppy. Curilla blushed slightly.

Honest, she thought sadly. I am not worthy of that description from the king.

Someday, the royal family would have to find out.

But not yet.

* * *

"It was a long time before they found out, in fact." Curilla coughed, covering her politely. All the talking over the last few days had been a lot for her, as she explored memories that had not been touched in years. "But the guilt continued to eat at me for a long, long time."

"It obviously worked out," Tompa-Tumpa said as he chewed on the edge of his brush, trying to get a few more brush strokes in before the afternoon sun faded to twilight.

"Oh yes. Most things work out. We survive. But guilt is a terrible thing to harbor, and over the years it affected me. I also became paranoid. I felt that everyone knew of the secret Trion and I held - his family, the Temple Knights, the adventures who helped me. I think they suspected. But the real beginning of the end was several years later, at a ball. We shall continue the tale tomorrow from there."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Curilla arrived after the artists had already started setting up for once. She had sent a runner to inform them of her lateness.

"My apologies," she said as she swept into the courtyard. "My son the king had need of my advice during a meeting this afternoon that ran late." She smiled a little tiredly. "When I accepted a position as a royal, I apparently ceded all claim to a peaceful retirement."

"No worries, Your Majesty," Tompa-Tumpa said cheerfully. "There is still plenty of light today. And we are waiting to hear the rest of your story-wory, too."

Curilla sat down carefully on the steps of the courtyard. "Very well then. Things continued like that for almost four years after my accident. We continued to keep our lives a secret, and to live as the soldiers we were, but it was shortly after Trion sustained a terrible injury on the battlefield and Claidie had met her uncle that the secret was lost. I was twenty five when my destiny began to reel out of my control . . ."

* * *

The annual Harvest Ball was being hosted by Lord Millneaux on a large estate in the finest section of the residential area, Bellevue Square. All of the Elvaan elite were there -- from the upper knights to the most ancient nobility. Of course the royal family was in attendance as well. Princess Claidie was surrounded by suitors, whom she summarily ignored. She had grown into a strong young woman who had no patience for the foppish, and Curilla privately suspected she'd select a knight for her husband rather than a noble. But Claidie was determined to marry for love since there were absolutely no monarchs anywhere else in the world that could use a bride. Freed from the obligation of arranged marriage from her father, she was taking her time. Curilla didn't blame her. Divorce was impossible by the laws of the San d'Orian church. The Tavnazian church was less orthodox and Cardinal Mildurion had allowed it there, but Mildurion was privately considered a heretic by the church and so the Papst conveniently ignored her decrees. She had died during the last attack on Tavnazia as far as anyone knew.

Trion and Curilla had arranged a clandestine meeting underneath a tree in the far corner of the estate. Most of the residential area was devoted to the dormitory style housing of the adventurers that had once served as barracks during the war, but the nobility had much larger homes with tidy, manicured lawns. The darkened corner was close enough for them to rejoin the celebration at a moment's notice, but private enough for some precious solitude.

"It was ten years ago, on a night much like this," Curilla said, looking at the stars above.

"You had just beaten the ragamuffins of Watchdog Alley into submission," Trion remembered with a smile. "I was so naive back then . . ."

"You're still naive, Trion. It's one of the things I adore about you."

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult."

"Be not insulted for words of praise," she laughed. "You have kept your innocence all these years, which is a remarkable thing."

"No, my beloved. My innocence died on one sorrowful battlefield, not so long ago."

She bowed her head. He was right, of course. Neither of them had been the same since that incident.

"I am going to ask you something," he said suddenly.

"Trion . . ." she said, a note of warning in her voice. The subject of their non-engagement was something that always simmered below the surface.

He placed a finger on her lips. "Not that. My sister Claidie has been having issues ever since she met our uncle during her failed coming of age ceremony. I believe that she could use a good woman-to-woman talk. She has no friends her age to confide in, and there is only so much a big brother can do to comfort a young woman."

"Ah. I suppose I could have a word with her sometime."

Trion nodded. "Also, there is the issue of the Orcs in Fei'Yin. Tomorrow, we will investigate."

"But tonight will be a night for more mundane issues." She reached up and kissed him gently.

He mumbled against her lips, "Or earthy ones." He then pinched her bottom through the beautiful navy blue dress she was wearing.

"You have a one-track mind, Trion."

"Only insofar as you are concerned."

"You are still weak from your injuries and you are in no shape for physical activity of any sort." Curilla gently rebuked him. "You need to rest more."

"I am fine," Trion argued back. "Let me show you how hale and hearty I am again.

"We have been noticed," she murmured by his ear as she spotted a curious moogle fluttering around them. "Let us mingle some more."

"When will we have to stop hiding?" He sounded pained.

Curilla left him then, unable to give him an answer. When, indeed?

* * *

The next day, they headed to Fei-Yin, where they had advance warning of a planned Orc attack. With the aid of some of San d'Oria's finest adventurers, Trion dispatched the Orcish warlords without difficulty.

Before he entered, however, he had given a painful look to Curilla.

"There are some things we must resolve between us," he said.

She nodded. "Yes, your highness. Be safe."

They were silent on the journey home. It was probably for the best, because of the uproar that awaited them when the returned to San d'Oria.

Her second in command grimly handed her the Vana'diel Tribune, where grainy photograph showed her and Trion in the darkened corner underneath the tree. Mortified, she was relieved to see that Trion was all but hidden entirely from view. She was clearly visible, on the other handle, with her distinctive hairstyle.

"That Moogle!" she said through gritted teeth. The article only raised the speculation that she had met someone under the tree at the ball, or rather met an old acquaintance there. She was quite relieved that the Moogle photographer had not overheard the rest of the conversation.

"You should show more discretion in your liaisons," he said to his commander. He was older than her by many years, and his eyes showed empathy at her plight while at the same time containing a careful warning. "Had your suitor here been visible, the article would have more teeth, but as it is, it is still damaging."

She closed her one eye and took a steadying breath. "I will endeavor to be more careful."

* * *

Curilla also acted as one of the adventurer assistants for the kingdom, and she often recommended promising adventurers for special assignments and missions to the kingdom. She envied their freedom and their lifestyle. A select few she even taught the final technique of the sword when they asked. It was after one such young swordswoman had learned the skill in the hopes of attending the tournament that she told her of the tragedy of many years ago, as a warning of the dangers that swordsman faced.

Pieuje overheard the conversation, much to her horror.

"I see that the battle between you and my brother is still being waged."

"P-Prince Pieuje! How long have you been . . .?" She was cut off by the younger prince's knowing smile.

"I just arrived, Curilla. I was beginning to wonder why our captain of the Temple Knights had failed to make her daily report."

Oh, it was that time of the day. Curilla had completely forgotten, so caught up was she in memories of the past. "I apologize for my tardiness! It will never happen again!" She saluted.

"It seems as if you remain weighted down by the burdens you have placed upon your conscience." Pieuje leaned over the railing from the top of the railing over the stairs.

"Weighted down?" He knows! Her heart screamed in terror. He knows! She struggled to regain her composure. "Again, I apologize, but I do not believe that is so."

"Hah! You differ not from my dear brother. The shards of the blade that shattered that day still remain lodged within your hearts. And so you remain at a distance . . .neither of you the victor in your ongoing battle."

She was silent, holding in a massive sigh of relief. He did not know. He still believed they were fighting as they had for those few months after his dismal marriage proposal. Their secret . . . it was safe. For now.

"Forget what I have said. I will be waiting in my chambers for your report."

She bowed again. "Yes, Your Highness."

He turned to leave, then paused again. "Curilla, you said that you had 'learned to feel what lies in your opponent's heart.' I think that you had best spend some time pondering over those words once again. You may find that you have been missing their true meaning." He quietly slipped through the door.

Maybe he did suspect them after all.

"I know what those words mean. I know exactly what they mean . . " she murmured to herself. With a sigh, she turned to the adventurer who had witnessed the scene in confusion.

"I do not regret losing my eye in that competition. I do not feel that I would be alive today, were it not for all I learned due to that accident. However, every time I take up my sword, I can feel the dull, throbbing pain it brings to my soul." How different things would have been if she and Trion had not fought that day! "I do not wish for you to make the same mistake as I did and hurt the ones you . . ." She stopped abruptly. Those unprepared for tournaments had lived too many disrupted lives. It would be a shame to possibly destroy the life of one of the carefree adventures by tying her down to a year of grueling training for a pointless fight.

"I apologize, but I have decided not to recommend you for the tourneys. I am sure there are other adventures more worthy of your newfound skill than a foolish game." She shook her head, staring at the ground, filled with so many mixed emotions she could think of nothing else more to say. "I wish you all the best in your journeys."

* * *

After she had dropped her report off to Pieuje's quarters, she marched across the lawn to Trion's rooms, her face impassive. She was admitted without curiosity; the princes used their front rooms as offices, after all. None of the guards had any inkling that she'd spent as much time in Trion's bedroom as she had his office.

"That news rag… " Trion bit off when she entered, pointing at the innocent piece of paper lying on his desk. "I want it destroyed!"

Ah, good old Trion. When something angered him, his first instinct was to declare war on it.

"You cannot do that Trion. A free press is essential to the health of the kingdom. Besides, it's based out of Jeuno." She stepped into the room and sat heavily on the plump sofa. "We have other problems. Pieuje overheard a conversation I was having with an adventurer . . . I believe he suspects us."

Trion joined her on the couch, sulking. "So that explains the ribbing I had over breakfast from him."

She raised her one good eyebrow, a trick she'd picked up over the years. "Do tell."

"'Dear brother, isn't it time you acquired a wife? After all, tradition states that no one else can marry until the eldest has. Claidie has found a suitor two days ago at the ball, and it seems even our dear General Curilla has found herself a beau.'" Trion balled his armored hands into a fist. "I asked him who he wanted to marry then, and he smirked and said he had plans for a certain Empress in Aht Urghan . . ."

Now _that_ was an interesting tidbit. She filed that piece of knowledge away in the back of her mind.

"So who did Claidie meet that caught her fancy?"

Trion grinned then. "Don't tell Father, but he's one of the adventurers that helped us with the Orcs a few days ago. I approve of her choice. He is a skilled fighter with the great katana and more than a match for her intellectually."

"Well, perhaps she may not need me to have a woman to woman talk with her after all then." Curilla was pleased; Claidie was a good person and deserved some happiness.

"Aye, she has stopped moping a bit, although she is still full of melancholy. She never got over the death of our mother, and our uncle was her only real connection to her. It may be a good idea to speak with her briefly nonetheless."

They were both silent for a while.

"So what is to be done about us?" Curilla finally asked.

Trion took a deep breath, started to say something, and then changed his mind. He stared moodily at the tapestry his mother had woven in the corner in anticipation of his birth.

"Why don't we just tell my family the truth?"

Curilla laughed, a hollow sound. "What, that we've been having an affair since we were teenagers? Oh I'm sure that will go over well with your brother. The king will be horrified, the royal family will be disgraced, and I'll probably be stripped of my title as a Temple Knight. No, the truth is not an option."

"So why do we have to tell them how long it's been going on? Wouldn't just saying that we fell in love and leave it at that?"

"Because the inevitable conclusion to two people falling in love is that they want to get married!"

She had said it. She held her breath, her heart thudding in her chest.

The shards of the sword as still in your hearts . . .

"So why don't we?" Trion whispered.

"Because."

"Because what?"

She began to cry from her one good eye. "Because I'm afraid." Her voice broke on a sob. "I'm afraid, Trion."

He held her as she cried onto his shoulder, and rocked her gently.

* * *

After she had a good cry about it, Curilla felt better, but they still had no resolution to their dilemma. She decided to talk with Claidie after all. Maybe another woman's ear could help her out.

She found the princess in her quarters behind Queen Leute's garden, looking out at the window.

"Your Highness," Curilla said with a formal curtsy, which always felt awkward in armor. "Your brother sent me here to talk with you regarding the last few weeks in San d'Oria."

Claidie broke away from the window, and looked down at her hands. "Pieuje is a good judge of moods sometime."

"Actually, it was Trion. I suspect they are both worried about you."

The princess motioned over to the overstuffed chair across from her. "Sit, Lady Curilla. It appears we have much to discuss. I will open a bottle of wine."

After a few minutes of pleasantries and a few sips of wine, Curilla got down to business.

"Your uncle's disappearance has affected you greatly."

Claidie swirled the rolanberry wine around in her glass, staring gloomily at the ruby waves as they stuck to the side. "I saw him one last time, before he left. He is determined to rebuild the Marquisate. I could not convince him to stay. He still blames us - my father - for the destruction of his home. Perhaps he is right, but we cannot begin to have a normal relationship until he lets go of that blame."

And then it was that Curilla saw the weight that was on Claidie's shoulders. Trion and Pieuje had not bothered to view Rochefogne as a family member, and Destin refused to speak of him at all. But to Claidie, he was the uncle she had never known, and one last living tie to her mother.

"But he is gone now."

"Yes," Claidie said miserably. "It is too late I fear. So I have been trying to move on . . . I accepted a supervised afternoon visit from a nice enough adventurer I met at the ball a few days ago, but my heart isn't in it."

So Pieuje and Trion were fooled by Claidie, but she wasn't serious about this adventurer. "As a princess then, you cannot even have an unsupervised visit?"

Claidie shrugged. "Propriety. I wish that things could be as open as you and Trio- OH!" The princess caught herself before she spoke the words aloud.

Curilla winced and smiled. She did not mind Claidie knowing. "Are we that obvious?"

"No," Claidie admitted. "But many years ago, I spied you meeting in the garden below, just before dinner. I have never told anyone I witnessed that meeting, most certainly not my brothers or my father. However, you have kept things very circumspect since then. I don't think anyone else in the castle has any idea."

"Pieuje suspects," Curilla ticked off on her fingers with a grimace. "Halver has a vague idea that Trion likes redheads with pigtails. I know exactly where _that_ rumor came from." She continued ticking off. "The damned Moogle photographer at the ball knows I'm meeting with someone. And then now, there is you."

Claidie smiled. "Your secret is safe with me, so long as it remains a secret. Are you going to marry my brother?"

Curilla choked on her wine inelegantly, and Claidie spent a panicky few moments trying to help the older woman breathe normally again.

"It's okay, it's okay," Curilla said, gasping to try to normalize herself. "It's a perfectly legitimate question. I do not know the answer."

"Has he never asked you?"

"That's not it. I said no." She felt like a petulant child as she said, "He asked me for the wrong reasons."

"The wrong reasons . . .? Forgive me, I do not mean to pry, but if there are wrong reasons, then surely there are right reasons too. Has he only asked you that one time?"

"I haven't let him ask again . . ."

"Perhaps you should do so." Claidie tactfully changed the subject. "Now, let's continue on to the issue of my suitors. The samurai is very nice, as I said, but I am afraid he sees me as a prize and not a person. I would have to say no were he to ask me to marry him as well, because that is also a wrong reason for marriage."

Fully recovered from the coughing fit, Curilla drummed her fingers on the chair. "So the right reasons to marry someone are when they see you as a person?"

"Yes," Claidie said brightly. "And when they love you unconditionally. When they accept you for who you are. When they will fight by your side and support you even when they feel you are making a mistake."

The blood was slowly draining from Curilla's face. "Claidie . . ." she whispered, gripping the wineglass so hard she was surprised it didn't shatter. "When they show their love in every day actions as well as words."

"Exactly! And when they can hold their own in a conversation. The samurai was more interested in getting into a tourney to show off his skill for me than he was in engaging me in political discourse."

Claidie prattled on about true love and such, and Curilla let her. She had finally realized what a terrible, terrible mistake she had made.

* * *

"And so," Curilla said to the riveted team of artists, "I became good friends with the Princess Claidie. She was the sole keeper of our secret for a long time after that. But everyone else had his or her suspicions. It was several years later that we were forced to reconcile our feelings with the truth."

"You're going to make us wait until tomorrow, aren't you, Your Majesty?" Angelica sighed. "A painting at sunset seemed like such a good idea, but we could have heard the whole story by now if it was an indoor portrait"

"And tomorrow is the last day we will need you, Your Majesty," Tompa-Tumpa said. "I am almost done, the rest of the details can be finished up in the studio-wudio."

Curilla nodded. "I will conclude on the morrow."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"And now, the final sitting."

The painting had come along well. Tompa-Tumpa was secure in his future as an artist, and Angelica knew her legacy as a portraiter would follow him as well.

"And the final chapter in our story, as well." Curilla smiled, eager to finish her tale. "It begins on the same tournament field as the whole story, thirteen years later."

***

Curilla sighed as she went to her afternoon exercises. Since that conversation with Claidie years ago, she had felt a great burden lifted from her heart. She knew now that Trion was her soul mate, and it was merely a matter of time before he asked her to marry him again, and she said yes this time. But he never asked.

He had never asked again.

They fought daily. She had never entered the tourneys again after she lost her eye, considering them a waste of time, but she trained and drilled with Trion constantly, and he had won almost every year since then.

She greeted him with a quick salute, and he replied with a formal bow. "My beautiful Lady Curilla," he murmured quietly.

"Your Highness," she replied.

They began their fight without further ceremony. Curilla found joy in the physical world more so than the spiritual, and she never felt more alive than she did when she was fighting with Trion. They knew each other's fighting styles so well, and knew each other's hearts so well, that it was less of a fight and more of a dance, a strange dance with flying swords and clanking shields - and properly forged armor and swords that did not break even when they executed fancy skills.

After an hour, with both of them winded and neither the victor, as was usually the case, they agreed to take a break. The field was otherwise empty today, without any of the spectators that occasionally stopped by nor any of the other Temple Knights to interrupt them. They gulped down water and wiped the sweat from their brows as they stared at the sky overheard, leaning against the wall surrounding the field.

"You smell nice," he said, sticking his nose close to her hair.

"Ew!" she said, playfully shoving him away. "I smell like the inside of a helmet."

"No, I definitely detect strawberries." He sniffed again. "Did you change shampoos?"

"Yes . . . a few days ago." She was surprised he had not noticed sooner.

"I like this one. Keep using it." He shifted down a bit further and nibbled her ear, a spot he knew she favored.

"Trion," she hissed, even as her blood grew hotter. "Not on the practice field."

"Why not? No one is here."

"I'm nasty and I need a shower!"

"So am I," he argued, and captured her lips so that she could argue no further. She caved in, humming low in her throat. He broke away for a moment to murmer wickedly, "We could go take a shower together."

"Incorrigible," she answered, and he resumed kissing her tenderly. They embraced, their armor clinking and sliding until they were almost in full body contact despite it.

They stayed like that for a long while, as two lovers long comfortable with each other could do. It turned out to be too long.

As they broke apart, Curilla looked across the practice field to see none other than Pieuje staring at them. He had an unreadable expression on his face, but a terrible gleam in his eye. Unlike Claidie, Curilla had no doubts that the first thing he would do was tell his father in an effort to get his brother in trouble.

It was over.

* * *

They were called to the king's chamber that afternoon, together. Claidie sat quietly on one side of the hallway, next to Pieuje, who was trying very hard not to smirk maniacally. Halver stood next to them stoically.

King Destin looked powerful and terrible on his throne. General Curilla and Prince Trion knelt before him. Curilla had been terrified in the intervening hours, but now that terror had been replaced with a strange calm. The years of lies would end today, for better or for worse.

The king rubbed his forehead with his be-ringed hand, as if he had a headache. He was silent for a long time, staring at the pair of lovers, as if he was unsure of where to begin.

Finally, he simply asked, "How long has this been going on?"

Trion started to say, "Nothing is-" before Curilla cut him off. She looked him in the eye, and said, "I cannot lie to my sovereign."

Then she took a deep breath. "Almost thirteen years, Your Majesty."

Pieuje and Destin both nearly fell out of their chairs. "Thirteen years?" Pieuje shouted, horrified. "But you were naught but children!"

"We were eighteen when things got serious," Trion said, turning very red.

Only Claidie stayed composed through the confession. "Children can fall in love as well," she said softly.

"And did you ever have any intention of telling anyone?" Destin continued, obviously disturbed.

Trion was flustered. "Well, obviously. Eventually we'd have to tell someone. But we were concerned about Curilla's career. It is improper for the General of the Temple Knights to have a relationship with anyone, let along . . . a royal."

Curilla took a deep breath. "I tender my resignation as General immediately." What else could she possibly do?

"Your offer is considered and refused," Destin said, prompting dropped jaws from all around the room. The king stood up and began to pace around the room. "Our army is not so strong that I can throw away generals over minor scandals like this. And there is no law that says a Temple Knight cannot fall in love."

"But it is breaking the vow of purity!" Pieuje practically shouted. "They have deceived us all for thirteen years!"

"Pieuje," Destin said sharply, "do you speak out of concern for the spiritual well being of your Knights or out of an attempt to embarrass your brother?"

Chastised, Pieuje sat down. This was clearly not going as he had anticipated.

"I did not call you in to issue punishments." Destin paused in his pacing to look hard at his oldest son. "However, it is high time you stopped playing warrior and gave me grandchildren, Trion. That too is part of the duties of a prince."

Trion blanched and looked at Curilla, who could only stare at him. "She has told me no before," he whispered, searching her face for clues about her feelings. "She told me she would never be my bride or my princess."

"Maybe you should ask me again, your highness." Curilla was shaking as she gently took his hand.

"Here? Now?"

"Why not?" She smiled at him, a smile full of love and happiness. The time had finally come for the truth.

"Marry me, Curilla."

"Yes." She closed her eyes and repeated the words. "Yes, Trion, I will marry you."

Claidie was crying tears of joy, while Pieuje rolled his eyes. Halver looked oddly disappointed; there had been rumors that he had ambitions for his daughter where the princes were concerned. Destin look gruffly pleased as well.

"Congratulations, my oldest son. Halver, we will commence the wedding plans immediately."

* * *

What followed was a whirlwind of happy activities for both the bride and groom. She was issued a temporary leave from her post as general, which she gratefully accepted because her life was suddenly filled with hundreds of appointments with the modiste, furniture makers, hairdressers, alchemists, cooks, jewelers, and crafters from every other guild to build her and Trion a wedding trousseau fitting for a prince and a princess. She had wanted to wear the simple wedding armor favored by adventurers, but was told in no uncertain terms that that was unacceptable. Her wedding dress was made ridiculously poofy, but with sapphire trim that complemented her hair and her one visible eye. It had taken a lot of strong-arming of the hairdresser to have her final hairstyle done with her eye covered, but in the end she had one and two graceful flattened tendrils looped down over her eye before rejoining the hair piled on top of her head.

And it was on the tournament field where they said their vows, at Trion's request. Curilla suspected it was partially to rub it in his brother's face, but Trion's explanation was that it was where they had first met as children.

Afterward, the streets of San d'Oria were filled with rejoicing from the citizens. The party lasted for days, even as Trion and Curilla were whisked away to Kazham for their honeymoon.

They were sitting together on the docks there, their feet dangling over the edge, watching the tropical waves, sipping wine as the sun set over the ocean to the west.

"This time," she said softly, "I think we have found a happiness that will last."

"I hope so," Trion answered. "At the very least, we will have no more hiding."

"I'm surprised your father was so generous." Curilla buried her forehead on his shoulder. "I was afraid I was going to be stripped of my title and exiled."

Trion was sad when he said, "Father is gravely ill, although he does not want anyone to know. He has still not decided which of us will inherit the throne, and I think he wants the reassurance of an unbroken line before he passes. Pieuje has been blabbing on about the Empress of Aht Urghan, but she has not replied to his letters and during my time there I was under the impression that she had her heart broken once before and does not wish to risk it again. Perhaps she will come around to a political alliance, but my father's time in this world is growing short and he cannot wait for Pieuje to convince her."

"So he would like a grandson?" Curilla shifted closer to him.

"Or a granddaughter. I do not think he will be picky."

"He may not have as long to wait as he thinks." Curilla was smiling the secret smile of feminine mystery.

Trion's eyes bugged out. "Curilla . . . do you mean . . .?"

"I think my father Rainemard would have liked a girl as well. He always said I was proof that a girl can do anything a boy can. Perhaps our child will be proof that a princess can do anything a prince can, like Claidie."

Trion hugged his wife joyfully, and they kissed as the sun finally dipped below the horizon.

* * *

"And thus, it is the end of my tale." Curilla said. "I could continue, but from that point on, our lives are formally recorded in history. Destin died within days of my first children being born. We had four children altogether, the eldest twins, although my oldest daughter was killed in battle when she was tragically young. My son and my other girls have given me plenty of grandchildren as well. Trion inherited the throne after the Empress of Aht Urghan finally caved in and accepted Pieuje's proposal for a political marriage. Claidie ended up joining an excursion with her uncle Rochefogne to reclaim Tavnazia, and met a thief that wooed her as a fighter instead of a princess. He was actually a bit upset when he found out about her deception, but it all worked out for them in the end." Curilla looked sadly at the ground. "I lost Trion too soon, about ten years ago. My son is a good King, but I am losing my will to remain in this world as well." The dowager gave a smile full of sorrow. "I am glad to have shared my story with all of you. Perhaps, before I go, I should write them into memoirs. I want my grandchildren to know of Curilla the General, not just Curilla the One-Eyed Queen."

* * *

A few weeks later, the finished portrait was hung with much fanfare in the Great Hall of Chateau d'Oraguille. The fire ore that was used in the painting to illustrate her brilliant red hair at sunset made it so that the painting seemed to glow. Tompa-Tumpa's name would surely be enshrined in history for this portrait.

"Good job," Angelica said, patting the Tarutaru on the head. "We have already been asked to do our next work, the President of Bastok's wife and children."

"Somehow, I don'taru think we'll hear such a good story-wory from them."

"Everyone has a story to tell," Angelica said firmly. "As a portrait artist, you need to listen with your eyes, much as Queen Curilla learned to see with her heart."


End file.
